


Legacy

by DamadiSangue



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Brother/Sister Incest, F/M, Fryecest - Freeform, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29658339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamadiSangue/pseuds/DamadiSangue
Summary: Sometimes he stops to think about who they are; what, besides an awkward and heavy legacy.Sometimes she wakes up drowning and always finds him beside her - a constant and warm presence, ruinously for her.
Relationships: Evie Frye & Jacob Frye, Evie Frye/Jacob Frye
Comments: 13
Kudos: 18





	1. Who we are

Jacob knows that Evie hasn't quite come to terms with _what_ they are - with what they _repeat_ every night, shamelessly.  
He sees it from the way she sometimes looks at other couples on the street, when one of the Rooks discusses her authority - even in the mischievous jokes that Clara addresses to her.  
 _You're a woman_ , Alton had told her one night, too much beer and whiskey in his breath, _The boss here is Mr. Frye, you are his delicate little sister._  
And she had broken both of his arms, Evie, reducing him to a weeping mass of blood.  
 _Repeat it,_ she had hissed a few inches from his swollen face; _repeat it and I'll blow your balls off with this same blade, sending them to your whore of the week._  
She didn't need his approval, because her actions spoke aloud — and several Rooks found themselves in the street crying like babies.  
Jacob had raised his glass in her direction, nothing more than a tacit approval - between his thighs an _uncomfortable_ erection, inappropriate at the moment.  
And he was _fucking excited_ to see Evie fight in the sand or better yet, _crush_ anyone who defied her authority.  
 _That's not what women are in this age_ , she had growled a few nights before.  
 _Shop window objects, angelic figures and the hearth of the house_ , she had spat, wiping blood and bile from her mouth.  
Jacob had limited himself to listening, occasionally tapping his cane on the floor.  
 _I'll break that shitty face if he tries again_ , he promised, taking off her sweat-soaked shirt-and _god_ if she was beautiful naked and dressed only in skin and anger.  
And it was _this_ , Evie; a wolf on the hunt, an animal that belonged to the cold and earthy English forests, certainly not in the humid Indian jungles.  
Evie turns to him, an alcohol-soaked cloth on her side and only the candlelight illuminating her hands, part of her face.  
Jacob gives her the same gaze as hers, stopping his movements  
He had stood up, then knelt beside her.  
"Maybe you'll need some stitches."  
Evie had remained silent, studying his hands examining the wound, drawing its ragged edges close.  
"It's superficial, but I wouldn't want it to get infected." Jacob continues, tracing its outlines.  
Evie watches him with large eyes, eaten at the corners; she opens her mouth when she sees him bring his fingers to his lips, tasting them on the tip of his tongue.  
"I should call Agnes." Jacob murmurs.  
"Yes."  
"Who knows if she is still awake."  
They _collide_ , Evie and Jacob - looking for each other at the same time.  
They collide, and it's teeth and blood - clothes thrown for the carriage and a quick, voracious embrace.  
They meet in the middle, and there is no room for them in this time - for a woman like Evie, who burns with _absolute_ , wild strength.  
There is no room for Jacob, a man who loves with the same insane urgency as the desperate - heroes ante litteram.  
There's a familiar synchrony in their movements - in the way Evie opens up to him, embracing her thrusts.  
There is being united again, perhaps a genetic memory, perhaps the physical need to be together again, clinging to each other as before birth.  
Jacob feels Evie's wound bleeding, reddish, sticky threads along her abdomen.  
She should stop - _yes, more_ , she murmurs.  
He should wait - _deeper, Jacob;_ she continues, urges him.  
But she's _not_ fragile, Evie: she's not one of those little things you can find in London houses all smiles and coy smiles - whose strength is just to endure and endure and _swallow_ as much shit as possible.  
And he thrusts in her and she is _so_ soaked, supple.  
He _comes_ , chasing Evie - a wet orgasm dripping between her thighs, forcing him to surrender.  
And she _screams_ , Evie, stifling that groan against his shoulder - she _bites_ , leaving purple marks that will attract the curiosity of more than one person tomorrow.  
Jacob lets himself go on Evie's body, between them blood **and** sweat **and** other things - _god, dad would turn in his grave_ , he had told her once and she had _laughed_ , surprising him.  
The train continues its run, lazy - indolent on tracks it knows, of which it remembers every curve, every defect.  
Evie strokes the hair on the back of his neck, kissing his temple.  
"I beat Audley too."  
"You did well."  
"Don't you even want to know why?"  
Jacob releases a low, throaty laugh that reverberates in her chest, causing her to arch against him.  
"No." he whispers, tracing herbetween his thighs - still sensitive, _too much_.  
Evie squints at her, languid-steel and metal under soft, warm skin.  
"You must have had your reasons."  
"What if I did it just _for fun?_ "  
"Even better." Jacob retorts, breaking her breath in a hungry, greedy kiss.  
Evie crosses her legs around his waist, laughs, and it's a sincere, free sound.  
Wolves and eagles are not made to _crawl,_ but to _conquer_ ; the agon of battle - _the desire_ \- devours and leaves no room for anything other than **them.**


	2. Rot wie die Liebe

The door knob _turns_ \- clac, clac; stops in the middle.  
Evie catches that movement out of the corner of her eye, she bites the inside of her cheek to stifle an indecent moan.  
"Miss Frye?"  
He's still in her, Jacob, and brushes her lips with his fingers — he thrusts between her thighs in a languid, slow movement.  
"It's Agnes." Evie murmurs, her breath hot, a soft, breathless note in her voice.  
"Miss Frye, are you still sleeping?"  
Evie is about to respond when Jacob thrusts with more force into her, snatches a curse from her mouth.

Clac clac.

" _You_." she hisses, staring at him.  
Jacob smiles, leaning towards her neck and _breathing_ — and she feels it too; the smell that _permeates_ the carriage, a mixture of _them_ and leather, extinguished embers and consumed cravings.  
"Aye, better let her rest." mutters Agnes, giving up trying to open the door.  
Jacob opens his mouth and Evie can feel his teeth brush against her skin - on her pulse just below her jaw.  
Something peeks out from under the door - a folded sheet.  
"I leave here the message Mr. Green gave me this morning for you and Mr. Frye: aye, that irresponsible is not even on his sofa." Agnes mutters, farther and farther away from them — her footsteps on the steps that divide the two carriages, followed by a second door that opens and closes.  
Evie grabs Jacob's face in her hands, lifting him off her chest and forcing him to look at her.  
"You are _bad_."  
Jacob reserves to her an indolent smile, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead.  
"Me, _dear sister?_ "  
Evie bites Jacob's forefinger, licking and sucking.   
"Yeah, _you_." she repeats, reversing their positions and staring at him from above - the faint light of dawn slipping over her body, painting it gold and white.  
Jacob laughs, and it's a loud-free sound, which he doesn't even bother to hide.

_"Nothing is real, everything is permitted: this gives us some discretion, don't you think, Evie?"_

In the center of her chest _that_ murmur continues, tireless.


	3. Brother and sister

"He wants _you_."  
Evie holds back a yawn, curling up in their bed and making room for him.  
"His smell takes on a _sweet_ tinge when he's around you."  
"And yours feels like molten metal when you get angry." she murmurs, sleepily.  
Jacob chuckles in the almost total darkness of the carriage - black and dense.  
For a few minutes they simply remain silent, Evie's breath on his chest, brushing against the silver shilling he displays as a medal.  
"I risked, last night. "  
Evie squints her eyes, opening her fingers around his left nipple - studying scars old and new.  
"In Whitechapel."  
He says it softly, Jacob: he confesses it, sinking his hands into her hair and stroking the back of her neck.  
"I know." she murmurs, lifting her face to his.  
"I _felt_ it, Jacob." she goes on, quietly.  
And there has always been this invisible tie; this _strand_ that led them to finish each other's sentences, to know each other's wounds, the moods that stirred them as children, that _flame_ in them as teenagers, when they were no longer _only_ brother and sister.  
Jacob tightens his grip around her body and Evie clings to him, as always - a curve of skin and muscle that seems to fit _perfectly_ with Jacob's roughness, his angles.  
"If Greenie didn't piss me off _so much_ I would have agreed with him as well."  
Evie laughs against his shoulder, slightly shaking her head.  
"But you wanted to hit him instead."  
"He deserved it."  
Evie releases a little _hum_ in the back of her throat, stroking Jacob along his abdomen, around his navel.  
Jacob closes his eyes, sighing on her cheek - stretching out like a large, fed and satiated predator.  
"We will go to India."  
"Yes."  
" _Together._ "  
Evie opens her thighs, intertwining them with Jacob's.  
"It will be an _interesting_ experience."  
Jacob opens one eye, amused.  
Evie snaps her tongue against her palate, nudging him on the lower abdomen - a little too close to his erection.  
"Not _just_ in that sense. Pig."  
"Sure, Evie: _sure._ " he soothes her, rubbing his nose in the hollow of her neck and remaining there, quiet.  
Evie opens her mouth, is about to retort something when Jacob _bites_ , ripping out a surprised yelp.  
Jacob's laugh soon becomes hers too.


	4. A Beast inside

It _beats_ behind the eyelids, in his chest.  
It _throbs,_ and everything around him is painfully intense - the scent of blood, the slimy smell of mud under the horses' hooves.  
Jacob is there and at the same time moves away from himself, from his body - he _jumps_ and it's like seeing himself from the outside.  
He cuts the femoral artery of the first man, thrust the dagger into the second man's hand, following his defensive movement and _splitting_ his skull with the same blade.  
The world is _too_ colorful and it hurts him to look at it - now he turns to the Eagle Vision more often than he wants to admit.

_"I cannot see."  
"What do you mean?"  
"What I just said, Evie: I can't see."_

His father may have been a control freak asshole, but at least he taught him discipline - that iron wire in which to wrap your drives and _dominate_ them, lead them wherever you want.

_"And how did you manage to follow me?"  
"The Eagle Vision."_

Evie _screams_ , but not in terror - she yells, and _laughs_.

_"When it started?"  
"From the night in the crypt."_

She shatters the elbow of one of the Blighters, twisting his arm into an unnatural position.

_"You should have told me."  
"I did not want to..."  
"The noises."_

She breaks the jaw to the second, his teeth splashing to the floor, his nose curling up into itself.

_"I hear **everything** , Jacob. Even your breathing in the other carriage."_

One of the remaining Blighters tries to escape through the back door; Evie rolls a chain around her hand - _whips_ it in the air, wrapping it around his neck and ...

Friiip. Plotch.

_"How long?"_

Jacob turns, watches the man's head roll between his feet - a paralyzed expression full of terror on his poor face.

_"From the crypt."_

He gazes at Evie, a profile bent forward, shortness of breath and a feverish, chaotic light in her eyes.

 _When we touched the shroud, she touched us_.

Henry enters in the factory, frayed limbs, broken bodies in front of him.  
"What happened?" he murmurs a worried-restless note in his voice.  
"Nothing." Jacob retorts, keeping his gaze fixed on Evie.  
"We have eliminated the problem." she continues, sheathing her kukri and maintaining eye contact with her brother.  
"This is a _fucking_ massacre." he hisses, climbing over the body of one of the Blighters.  
"There's a furnace right here." Jacob replies, in his words a tense inflection - on the verge of tearing.  
"That's not what I meant." Henry chews, pointing a finger at him "I asked you to ..."

Crack. Tump.

Jacob smiles - bares his teeth - Henry opens his mouth in a surprised, disgusted expression.  
Evie wipes her hands on the back of her pants, staring at him; she then grabs one of the Blighters by the ankles, lifting him as if he weighed _nothing_ and throwing him into the furnace.  
The smell of burnt flesh almost makes Henry to throw up.


	5. The right answer

The morning welcomes them sitting next to each other, their fingers intertwined and the blood of the night still on them.  
Evie stares at the light of dawn touching the tip of her boot, Jacob follows her gaze, tightening his grip around her fingers.  
"I don't know what to do."  
"I do."  
Evie stretches a tired smile, looking at him.  
"You make it easy, Jacob."  
"Because _it is._ "  
Evie wonders if he isn't right - if doesn't really matter _who they are_ , but _what_.  
"It wouldn't be the first time this has happened; not even in the Brotherhood."  
Evie is silent, mentally repeats all those names - Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Ezio Auditore, Connor, Arno - she leafs through the pages, the ones that history tends not to tell.  
"I know."  
Jacob looks up at her, his face streaked with coagulated blood and soot.  
Evie describes small circles with her thumb against the palm of his hand, absorbed in him.  
"The Victorianum would judge us a disgrace."  
Jacob releases a mocking, throaty sound.  
"They call _capitalism_ freedom and _slavery_ progress: I don't care about the hypocrisy of the world, Evie."  
The sun advances in the sky, trying to make its way through the ajar curtains.  
Jacob opens his mouth, closing it immediately afterwards.  
"You are my sister, Evie."  
"And this is supposed to help me?"  
"No."  
Evie jerks her head up, staring at him.  
Jacob gives her a serious, painfully full look.  
"Henry asked me to go to India with him."  
"I know: I heard him."  
Evie bites her lower lip, acid heat in her chest, burning her throat, her words.  
"I should go there."  
"You should."  
"He is a good person."  
"Oh, our Greenie really is, isn't he? A decent man, asking before he goes in - _with permission, Miss Frye, can I ..._ "  
Evie draws him to her, looking for him in a desperate, hungry kiss.  
Everything in her _screams_ and _tears_ and _consumes_ and ...

_Jacob._

On her lips the right answer is always his name.


	6. Surrender

_We were born together, we will die together_ , he had told her the night before their first mission.  
And it wasn't like Jacob to say such _serious_ words - not the Jacob _everyone_ knew.  
Evie had smiled at him, pointing her index finger at her.  
 _The seat in the front row is mine, brother_ , she had proclaimed, between the serious and the facetious; _to see you die is not a sight I would ever want to see_.  
They defied death and mocked it every time they hid in the shadows, threw themselves from roof to roof, drew the blade **and** breathed **and** prepared to strike **and** sank **and**...  
"Evie." he calls her - he begs.   
"Evie." he repeats - a prayer, a wish.

_"I'll give it to you, but soon after it will be my turn."  
"Don't be silly, Jacob: the Brotherhood needs you and..."  
"I don't care."_

Evie leans her head back, welcomes his tongue on her neck, between her breasts.

_"Jacob ..."  
"No."_

Andit should hurt; at least one bit'.  
An act _so obscene_ should be accompanied by an _exemplary_ punishment - by a terrible physical pain, which burns all the horror of them into her skin.  
Jacob _bites_ , a hot body burning under her hands - for her.

_"The Brotherhood will always need one of us."  
"Then be their favorite Mentor, sister."_

Evie senses her urge to become liquid, follow Jacob's fingers along her abdomen, between her thighs - tear more than a moan and free her from herself.  
And they are a tangle of skin dirty with both, blood and shameless murmurs - _now, Jacob: go on, don't stop._  
He is a a whispered compliment as she presses her heels into his back - _you look beautiful, Evie_ \- and she welcomes him with an awkward, familiar ease.  
They are a confession and a surrender - a request and a condemnation.  
They are an indistinct mass of tastes and smells: colors that have the same shades - the same, tragic, smudged lines of blood and _more._

_"Don't die, brother."_

They are an _absolute_ moment like their life - a deafening whole, dying out in an orgasm that leaves them soft in each other's arms, united.

_"Have fun, sister."_

Jacob hides his face in her hair, sobs one word - _stay_.

_"A ride to the train?"  
"Who arrives first pays for a drink!"_

Evie listens to her heart beating in unison with his - _we were born together_ \- she closes around him like a promise - _we will die together_.  
Surrender has never felt more natural to her than _now._


	7. Family

"I don't understand."  
On the top of the Big Ben Jacob _breathes_ , forgets the smell of the city.  
"These symptoms could get worse."  
Jacob curls his fingers around the spiers of the tower, gliding with his gaze on the horizon, among the columns of smoke and dust that rise from the ground.  
"We could go _crazy_."  
He turns, meeting his sister's eyes — dilated, obsessed.  
"What if we already were?" she continues, climbing up beside him and locking his wrist in a vise.  
"What if we ended up like in the Lambeth asylum?" a quick, frightened beat in her chest.  
"Or worse: what if we hurt someone?"  
Jacob runs the back of her hand with his fingers, reaching her shoulder, her face.  
"We already did, Evie."  
"You know what I mean."

_Don't touch the flesh of an innocent._

Jacob touches her forehead with his lips, lingering on her.  
"Not gonna happen."  
"But _if_." she insists, closing her eyes "We may not even notice, Jacob. Consider it a natural extension of being Assassins."  
Evie lets out a frustrated groan, slamming her clenched fist into his chest.  
"We considered it natural even..."  
Jacob tugs, Evie opens her eyes suddenly, finding herself a few millimeters from his face.  
"Don't try to hide behind the shroud, _sister_." he chews, staring at her.  
Evie hardens her gaze, bares her teeth.  
"I'm just trying to understand and..."  
"We started _much earlier_ , Evie: do you want to deny it?"  
"No."  
Jacob seems to relax at her words, studying her carefully.  
"Call it with its name. Evie. A _fucking_ relationship."  
"You are my brother."  
"You're good at pointing out the obvious. _Twin brother_ , to be precise."  
Evie presses her lips in a thin line, tilting her head to the right.  
"I'm not ashamed of who we are."  
Jacob raises an eyebrow, waits.  
Evie seems to be searching for her words, Jacob hears - _sees them_ , as if they were already in his mind.

_But it scares me to think what I might do **if.**_

**If** the shroud consumed you.  
 **If** one day I find your body broken, beaten, dead.  
 **If** I die, what would remain of you, Jacob?

_Of us._

"What did our father always say?"  
"Don't allow personal feelings to compromise the mission."  
Jacob kisses the corner of her lips, murmurs on her mouth.  
"And what did he add at the end of each training session?"  
Evie searches for his eyes, breaking his breath.  
"You are a _family_ and the family stays _together_ until the end."  
Jacob smiles, a dull glow in his eyes, which indicates the use of Eagle Vision.

_But what's the end, Jacob?_

The city whispers, and _promises._


End file.
